


Crashing of the Tides

by Lliyk



Series: Frostburn [9]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ambassador Katara (Avatar), Are We Shocked? No, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fire Lord Zuko, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sex, Shameless Smut, Some Action, bluepaint is better but i digress, bluetara, guys it’s domko, idk what this writing style is ok don’t look at me, literally a crumb of plot bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lliyk/pseuds/Lliyk
Summary: Across the Fire Nation, there are whispers...Obediently, he brings her bottom lip gently between his teeth, nibbling just enough before languidly darting his tongue between the eager part of her lips; stealing her breath for his own in a deep, heart-warming kiss.“Anything else, Ambassador?” He asks playfully, finally untucking the pillow from underneath her and replacing it with his arms; rolling them, so that her familiar weight lays comfortably over him.“No, Lord,” Katara’s laughter is quiet and raspy, a sure sign that she is drifting toward slumber. “I have all that I require, right here with you.”
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Frostburn [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007067
Comments: 23
Kudos: 94





	Crashing of the Tides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldilocks23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldilocks23/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Solace of Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208343) by [goldilocks23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldilocks23/pseuds/goldilocks23). 



> first of all: if you have not read The Solace of Night then _what_ are you _even fucking doing here?_ go. i mean; come back to this later, but... _go_. you will not regret it, as it is **highkey required to get the gist of this fic**. that aside, it’s also one of the best oneshots i’ve laid my eyes on in a long ass time. say it with me, folks: _thank you, goldilocks23_. 
> 
> i wrote this to (and stole the title from) [Quantum Physics by Ruby Waters](https://open.spotify.com/track/5mI7nxjalLOnhoqeHLOSOX?si=jj5YlwD1TZeO6P0TNIafeQ), on repeat! seriously my lads, turn the song on for this one. this is also my Very First attempt at anything bluepaint, so... comments are fuel ♡. beware the typos — by now y’all know damn well that i write instead of sleeping !!!

* * *

**In hidden tomes, swallowed in oceans**

**Agni claims the Blue Spirit**

**A Son**

☼ ☾ ☼ 

**In lost scripts, burned from ice**

**Tui claims the Painted Lady**

**A Daughter**

  
  
  
  
  
  


********

  
  
  
  


_Across the Fire Nation, there are whispers..._

  
  
  


Yue hung in eerie shadow; a low and thin waning crescent sequestered between the blanket of constellations that rest against the skyline of his sleepless city. At his side, her kin of crimson. To those they passed they were but a minute stir of the wind. They had traversed quietly through the dark; though loud, when they brushed against one another in the safety of hidden nooks; louder, still when they spared touches along the pathways that lead them through crannies. Never, did they exchange a word.

Still, Zuko knew his partner — knew what lay under the artful twist of scarlet over umber. Even in her adopted silence the Painted Lady’s demeanor had hummed with a palpable tint of joy that resonated to him clearly; out to him in an undercurrent of primal understanding. The dark is where they spent most of their time together, and Agni had only just taken to rest. The nervous ache — the one that screamed _protect_ — that had sat heavily in his gut had eventually faded to nothing but a focused excitement. This was her first time out with him in months; a trial run, to see how a harmony might come into play on their pai sho board of court.

That night, they sought the heads of a new cropping of bandits and their leaders, ones he had been keeping small tallies on. It took no time at all, listening in the dank underground of abandoned buildings far east of the palace, to understand that the bandits were not truly, or simply, _bandits_ ; to see that they were much more of a syndicate, and that they were well organized. Well trained.

And yet it was a wayward guard who gave away their hiding place among the rotten beams of the grotto; the tiniest of happences, that they brought forth fire to their hands in order to light their pipe, right underneath them while they watched the larger body of foes. The guard had taken a deep drag and an even longer exhale before rolling their eyes lazily to the ceiling. They had not been seen, no, but caught unaware, the smoke of the fragrant tobacco root had gathered right through the maw of his mask.

He sneezed; all hell broke loose.

In the foray he lost a dao. It had only made him more viscous; only made him more alert, more meticulous, and more cautious. More attentive to his left side instead of the signature of the Painted Lady’s heat he tended to hold a tab on at all times.

It did not stop him from watching her.

In the same second that he saw metal at her neck — in the same second that the whisper song of his last dao slicing through air was met by the deafening wet crack of flesh and broken bone; his blade, glinting from the sternum of the bandit who _dared_ , of the bandit whose body had fallen to the dirt with hard, sickening _thud_ in light of his perfect aim — he caught her wide eyes trained on him from under the brim of her hat. Saw her curl her fingers in the undeniable way that crushes people's hearts. Saw her close her fist without so much as a moment of hesitation. Without so much as a flinch.

He still does not know what she saw that made her do it — still does not care. All he knows, as they run clear of the crypt and through the city streets; to the palace walls and the safety of his private garden; _all_ that he can think of; is how his own heart hurts. How it hurts for her. How it hurts for the way _she_ hurts for him, because now she is collapsing into the sweetgrass next to the sleeping roses. Now she is looking at her hands, shaking and losing track of her breath and staring at him with the most conflicted eyes.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say — has _wanted_ to say. To whisper reverently against her mouth before parting the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue and drinking her in like the dehydrated man is without her, to pull sighs and sounds from her body in a show of private adoration; to get her to focus on him instead of what she did _for_ him. But he cannot — will not, while there are tears starting to streak through the red under her widened gaze.

“The moon isn’t even _full_ and I — I _liked_ the way it _felt_ ,” she shakes in his hold, a bubble of hysteria tinting her whisper. “If they — if _you_ —”

Silent, he envelopes her in his arms and holds her close; pushes back the brim of her hat and tucks her head under his chin so that she is close to his thudding pulse. She weighs little more than nothing, and he takes her down the route to his typical secret passage that lay hidden behind the thick, flowering vines of the tall stone wall below his rooms. Her fingers are warm when they curl around the side of his neck, but she shivers as if cold, or trying to leave her body. It isn’t until they are in the quiet safety of his dimly lit antechamber that he dares to set her down, and even then he only does it to divest himself of his mask and place it along the wall with the other renditions from _Love Amongst the Dragons_.

“I can’t do this again,” she speaks quickly, though still quietly; shakes, just as much if not more, as he carries her into the cool darkness of his bedchamber. “not right now. Not when I _liked_ — I want to help you. I _do!_ But. I — _I_ —”

Zuko hushes her and thumbs away the ruddy tears from her cheeks. “You saved my life,” he says, because he knows; says, because it will also distract her from the yin of the truth and steer her towards the yang. He places a kiss to the crescent adorning her furrowed brow, leaves a trail of them down her nose and to the corner of her mouth, murmuring as she places her shaking hands over his heart. “you used your power to _save my life_. There is no dishonor in taking pride in such a thing, nor is there dishonor in not wanting to do it again.”

Her sniffles fill the silence that weighs between them. Zuko lets it hang, not wishing to crowd the air should she wish to voice her thoughts once more, and also finding a semblance of contentment in having her curled in his lap, holding her protectively against him. Furtively, he chases away the looping image of metal glinting at the back of her neck; keeps his hands from clenching by keeping one cupped to her cheek and the other bunched loosely in the dress at her waist.

When she speaks next, he knows then that it will be alright.

“Zuko,” she says tentatively. Scratchy from tears but thick with something else. “help me take this off.”

“Hm.” He hums, his fingers flexing and his since calmed pulse skipping at the familiar undercurrent he finds in her tone. “Are you sure?”

She says nothing, but her fingers tug absently at _his_ collar, and he knows that she means it. And who is he to deny her anything, when all he wants to do is crown her, enthrone her, and proclaim his intent in the highest order; the highest _honor_ , of which he can bestow? 

Who is he to deny her, when he can deny her nothing to begin with?

Zuko takes her into his private bath and sinks them into water heated by his own hands. In the same heedful manner in which he had removed the blue, Zuko helps her wash some of the red away.

********

  
  
  


_In the meantime, there are other comforts of night._

  
  
  


Zuko always uses careful touches when it comes to Katara. The same kind of careful he applies when he performs formal tea ceremonies; the very same careful it takes to cleanly slice through flesh, or perhaps when he inks his name on the most important of parchments. With the oldest of calligraphies and the widest of strokes. 

He secretly takes to drawing the characters along her skin with his teeth — leaving his mark in all of his favorite places. He likes knowing that he was there, and silently laying his claim; seeing it, in the litter of barely purple hickies that she apparently never manages to find, for surely they’d all be healed over by now. He spots them easily under her robes, as if she arrives at meetings without cloth on her back. _Zuko_ on her ribcage, _Zuko_ on her shoulder. _Zuko_ , right there, just below her ear. _Zuko_ on her wrist. _Zuko_ on her thighs. 

_Zuko_ on her hips and _Zuko_ on her mouth. 

She likes it when he does this, though she doesn’t know. She likes it the most when he writes it over her folds; spells it across her clit and swipes it over her walls. She shudders and cries when does it with his hands. Writhes and moans when he writes it with his tongue.

He comes to learn that his most favored is when he need not write anything at all. 

A quiet, curious hum rumbles through him as he slinks through the shadows, masked in blue and only just returned. Through the tiniest crack in the drapes and by the sliver of firelight burning low on a set of candles, Zuko can make out her frame as clear as if it were day from where he stands on her balcony, with how well he has it memorized. Her throat is bared, knees knocked apart. His curiosity dies out to the hunger that begins to burn hideously in his gut, the endless thirst in him that cannot be quenched with just any liquid. It mixes with the last of his adrenaline from the run home, the thrill of felling his enemies, the skip in his pulse at simply seeing her.

No louder than a spider-fly, he uses the edge of a dao to twist the lock on the balcony doors and lets himself in. The paneled glass clicks softly behind him, the sound lost under the stir of the drapes as he slips through; to the quickening sighs that immediately reach his ears.

“Zuko. _Zuko—_ ”

Swift pain, tender and fresh and nothing at all to do with the insufferable, stinging cut that he’d stopped at her rooms to have her tend to, flashes hotly though him; washes away his original plan to simply find his way to her side and promptly black out until Agni rang, _and_ the second one; the one he’d formed upon landing on the rails of her balcony; the one to watch her _finish_. In that moment he remembers belatedly that he had hardly seen her in the palace today, and feels the absence of her that he had carried around on his shoulders since her purposeful hanging of her spiritual mantle, months ago now, tenfold. He feels the sheer weight of _alone_ , at not being able to have her by his side in the solace of night, sting at him in a feverish burn that outstrips the slash on his arm by far.

 _Soon_ , she’d said a few days prior, and he’d wanted to tell her that _soon_ was never soon enough when it came to her.

His name falls from her lips again. It takes nearly all he has to keep the candlelight from flaring. If he doesn’t put his hands — his tongue, his teeth, his _mouth_ — on her right this very second he will surely catch fire from his scalp to his toes.

Silently, he slips off the mask. 

“Katara.”

Warmth flushes through him, both amused and appreciative at the way her breath catches at the sound of his voice. Unsurprisingly, she does not startle overmuch, but he knows that he’s surprised her by the way she jerks her hands away from the crux of her legs — to which he raises his own hands in a show of surrender. Her eyes, wide and stormy in the dim of the dark, dart down from his face; to the mask in his hand and back. Zuko remains silent as he looks down at her, giving himself another moment to enjoy the vision of her bathed in muted fire; bare breasts heaving with each breath; pretty mouth parted in a pout; the added density of her lashes the dark gives her, and how her thick unbound hair frames her like a pool of ink.

Katara relaxes; smiles up at him, lopsided and beautiful. Abruptly, the temper of his desire bleeds toward something sickeningly saccharine.

“Zuko,” she sighs. “welcome back.”

 _I love you_ , he wants to say. He exhales sharply instead; brings fire to the nearest sconce that lines the wall of her bedchamber. She blinks against the increase in lighting. Slowly, he takes in the tiny bruises littering her body; sets his mask on the ottoman at the foot of her bed, followed by his swords.

“May I join you?” He asks, teasing off his gloves to add to the already growing pile, fitting his fingers under his tunic and peeling it up slowly over his abdomen anyway, a goad. A want, disguised as an invitation.

“Please, Zuko.” Katara says, and heat scatters promptly throughout his belly at the utterance. “I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

He thinks he might not be so careful with her tonight, with the way she keeps saying his name; with _how_ she was saying his name, and with how raw his need for her feels right now. Zuko slithers the black obi from around his waist with deliberate movement; without once breaking her gaze. With deft hands, he is out of his boots and soon slips out of his tunic, hushing her with a finger to his lips when she sees the red-soaked bandage wrapped around the length of his forearm. “Later,” he promises her, using the other hand to undo the clasp of his pants. “the bleeding stopped a while ago,” he tries, but Katara is Katara.

She crawls forward to him until she is at the edge of her bed, setting a predatory spark behind his ribcage as her hair spills over her back to frame her face. In seconds she has the bandage flitting to the floor; a concentrated frown on her face as she draws glowing water from nothing but air to her hand and runs her ethereal touch up the split in his flesh. The stinging sensation of his muscle and skin knitting back together is nothing in comparison to the itch that starts at the edges of his starburst scar, or the slosh of pain-pleasure that roils through him at the image of her; bare, and sitting on her knees before him.

The glow fades; the water at her fingertips, dissipated with no more than a flick. 

Brilliant ocean eyes look up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Better now.” Zuko cups her jaw and runs the pad of his thumb across her cheek to the corner of her pouting mouth before leaning down to smooth away the wrinkle in her brow with a soft kiss. “I missed you.”

Katara’s breath hitches — _“Oh,”_ — and he drags his gaze up from where his thumb rests against the center of her bottom lip, watches with syrupy satisfaction as Katara’s eyes glaze over, and he hums deep in his chest as her smile sends a hot, scorching hammer of adoration up his sternum. “I missed you too,” she says, then, quickly turning coy: “I think you have an idea of just how much, don’t you, Zuko?”

His eyes flutter shut for a long second. He’d been half hard just watching her from the balcony; from being able to drink her in while he’d neared the edge of her bed; but he is rock hard now, straining against his trousers and absolutely _aching_ after watching her crawl to him; of watching her look at him with concern and affection.

“Yes,” he rumbles thickly, guiding her backwards with a suggestive press of his fingers against her jaw and a knee on the edge of her bed. “I might.”

Katara follows his movement readily and obediently, making his heart sing loud and clear.

She laughs. “Might?”

“Mhm.” Zuko cracks a tiny, roguish grin at her. “Maybe you’ll care to help me.”

With delicate hands, sturdy with desire, Katara draws him to her. Heaven sighs when his lips meet hers, when he kisses down her neck and takes a hardened nipple into his hot mouth; reaffirms every last one of the lingering purple monikers of his visits. It does not take long for her to thread her fingers through his hair, or to beg him between her legs, and he lowers happily to crux of her. Basks in the heady tang of her scent, how wet she is for him — how wet she is _because_ of him.

With practiced ease, Zuko pulls the evocation of gods from her mouth. He presses against her, savoring her radiating heat against his lips as he gently scrapes his teeth over the end of her slit. Above him Katara lets out a wanting sigh; _Spirits, yes_ and _please, more_ , and Zuko holds a steady rumble in his chest as the sound of her pleasure sends his blood quickly rushing south.

He gives a single, languid suck to the sensitive bundle of nerves as a reward for her breathless, needy little gasps; dips his tongue deep into her center. Katara hums out a litany of crescendoing mewls, and she is trembling by the time he concludes his claim, sitting up on her palms and pleading for release as he completes the last strokes of his name in sure rhythm of heavy licks at the entrance of her fluttering walls.

“ _Zuko_ ,” she whisper-sighs his name on a punched out gasp, bows prettily for him as her orgasm waves through her. He locks his hold over her quaking thighs, eyes on her heaving chest and writhing stomach as he matches the aimless flex of her fingers over the sheets; as she undulates with the shock of her climax. He helps her down with greedy, slow licks of her leaking core, lidded gaze trained on her every movement.

He lets up when her fingers find purchase at the roots of his hair; growls when she tugs a little too hard, even as he follows the direction of the pull. Her blown ocean eyes lock onto his. Zuko breathes out a tiny plume of fire, just so she can see how wet his mouth is, and then promptly starts his way back up her body.

“Liked that, did you,” he hums in amusement, stopping at a little purple mark on her hip, and again, just under the swell of her tit.

“I’ll like it more,” Katara’s voice is pitched low and husky, remnant of the spirit she wears so well. “when I have you inside of me.”

Zuko lets out a breathless growl at her words; surges up to cage her between his arms and settle his weight between her legs; to capture her lips in a hungry, searing kiss. He is as hard as steel against her thigh, hot and sensitive from neglect; leaking pre-cum from want. Katara runs the tip of her tongue along the back of his teeth, tasting herself, and Zuko slants his mouth over hers again and again — hungrier, dirtier, and needier each time.

“Please,” Katara gasps against him. Her hips pick up a purposeful pattern underneath him as she captures his top lip between hers, and he hisses as pinpricks of outlying pleasure flare through his frame. “Zuko, _please._ ”

A broken groan reverberates from the depths of his throat. Deftly, Zuko shifts them; snatches a pillow from the plethora that head her bedding and has her arc for him so that he can tuck it under her; so that he can spread her wide open and run the tip of his swollen cock through the beautiful, wet mess that is her sex. 

“Say it again,” he demands with a grunt, his voice cracking with barely contained need. “my _name_ , Katara. Say it again for me.”

“ _Zu_ ,” she starts, but the moment the airy utterance leaves her lips he sinks himself into her clenching core with a single, swift thrust; cutting her off; bringing her into harmony with him as they let out long, dual moans of bliss.

Zuko sinks his teeth along her shoulder to stop himself from cursing, slides one hand up to carefully cup her along the underside of her jaw, just over her throat. “ _Zuko_ ,” Katara moans for him, and he echoes the perfect sound as she locks her legs around him; finds himself reciting ancient hymns in his head to keep his composure. “Move. Move — _I need you_.”

His mind blanks as the words wash over him, as Katara becomes sin around him; better yet a blessing; as the fluttering embrace of her stunning wet heat over his length makes him see stars. Ever devout, he rises to his knees and bows over her as if in prayer; thumbs at her bottom lip and plants his other hand on the back one sinewy thigh, presses her firmly into the silken sheets and gives her what she wants.

Katara lets out a long, high keen as he fixes his hips and sinks deep into her core. Already, the rest of the sconces lining her room flicker with growing flame. Already, sweat beads at his temple; glistens over Katara’s umber skin in a fine sheen that sets her aglow.

“ _Agni, Katara_ ,” he groans her name in plain exaltation as she meets the steady drive of his hips with the needy snap of her own; as she unravels him by pouring his name from her mouth, just as he asked — _Zuko,_ Zuko _, harder, please_ , and he is shifting her again; lifting her leg clear over his shoulder and curling his lip over his teeth in a virulent snarl; falling into a rhythm of desperate, sharp abandon, one that rocks the frame of her bed and has her scratching welts of fire down the span of his back.

A strong tremble runs through Katara as he fucks into her, her ocean eyes gaining that tell tale glaze; wide open and blown black with lust. Her fleeting hands fall to his ass, pressing, squeezing, and with a growl he all but bends her in half in the need to have his mouth on hers; to kiss her, sloppy and open mouthed; to take the hand at her jaw and run his fingers between their meeting lips in a bid to wet his them, so that he can slide them down her body and pay tithes to the bundle of nerves begging his attention.

Tight pleasure tugs at his body; at the sound of their harsh breathing set to the beat of skin hitting skin. The air in her between them is damp and sticky, and Katara chokes out his name against his parted lips as she lets him take her, her hands ceasing their questing trek over his frame to cup his face as she tilts her head down and drops her gaze to watch him repeatedly pump into her wet — _wet,_ _Agni_ , High Above — and angelic heat. To watch his fingers pass teasingly through her damp curls and then work their way in expert, slow circles over clit.

Katara curses. “ _La_ , Zuko — _I’m_ _close_ —”

The admittance is his own near undoing.

“Look at me,” he demands, panting harshly at the coiling, molten heat set deep in his loins and singing through his blood. “ _Katara_.” He growls against the column of her neck when all she does is drop her head back and whimper; kisses his way up with nips and licks until he is pressing tender dragonfly kisses against the underside of her jaw. “ _Look at me_.”

Her eyes meet his just as she moans, long and low and desperate; just as she snaps her hips to his and shivers, just as arcs toward him, wound tight like the plucking strings of a Sage’s zither. She bucks under his frame as she convulses around his aching cock, her thigh quaking where it rests over his shoulder, pressed against his neck.

“ _Z-Zuko_ ,” she whines airily. The fire in the room flares, casting the shadows and washing them in pale bright, pale yellows. His loins tighten at the sight of her; the impossible feeling of her; ruined and wrecked and a sobbing, gasping mess, just for him. Because of him. With a breathless litany of her name pouring from his mouth, orgasm hits him, abrupt and sharp. It seizes the air in his lungs, and he slips out her just enough to let long streams of thick white decorate the lithe planes of navel. 

Star-hot pleasure ripples through him in, tingling from scalp to toe just as he knew it would. He moans through gritted teeth, pleased with the mess, when it takes to the dip of Katara’s hip and down the line of her shaking inner thigh. Carefully, he places kisses along her damp, salty skin before he eases her down. He whispers into the messily curling hair at her temple and wraps his arms securely around her shoulders and waist in order to keep her safely. He coos quietly as she rides out her aftershocks against him, low and rumbly in the way that always makes her as pliant as her element in his hands. 

“I’ve got you, Katara,” he tells her; _I love you_ , he doesn’t say. “I’ve got you.”

The firelight in the rooms dim as they do; as he takes purposeful, even breathes to help Katara catch hers. She curls further against him with a soft moan, her fingers playing lazily; adoringly; in the damp hair at his nape. Her chest rises and falls with his. Zuko eases up on his embrace and slips down to plant kisses of praise; of thanks, and reverence; down her lax body, follows the lingering tremors in her frame down to her hips where he lays heated hands; slides them up and down her still twitching thighs in short, soothing motions. Kneads his thumbs in languid, firm circles along her waist, uncaring of the mess he made of her — knowing they will rectify it under the comfort of warm water soon enough.

Zuko trains his gaze on Katara’s face as he runs his hands over her. It’s mesmerizing, seeing those blue eyes flutter open to follow his movement in a post-cotial haze. There is a smile playing at the corners of Katara’s mouth, and he finds himself mimicking it with the slow upturn of his.

“Zuko,” she calls; no more than a sweet, sleepy murmur, and he rises to her beckon as if her hands are holding his blood to her whim. “kiss me.”

Obediently, he brings her bottom lip gently between his teeth, nibbling just enough before languidly darting his tongue between the eager part of her lips; stealing her breath for his own in a deep, heart-warming kiss.

“Anything else, Ambassador?” He asks playfully, finally untucking the pillow from underneath her and replacing it with his arms; rolling them, so that her familiar weight lays comfortably over him.

“No, Lord,” Katara’s laughter is quiet and raspy, a sure sign that she is drifting toward slumber. “I have all that I require, right here with you.”

If she feels his heart thump out of rhythm, she mentions nothing of it; only twines her legs with his and rests her nose at his throat. He reaches for the life of fire along the walls; the nearly gone flicker of the candles at the antechamber doors, and douses them in dark with a controlled breath.

Katara sighs against him. Zuko closes his eyes and willingly waits for Agni’s summons.

********

_... At night, she no longer dons the veil and paint — for now, at least._

  
  
  


It takes two seasons for her to paint the red back on. With her peace well made, she does it under the cover of broad moonlight, as silent as the century who waits for her in dark shadow. Oh, the dark: it’s where they spend most of their time together. Sneaking, and slipping through cracks. Wheedling information and slicing through tendons, or dissolving them entirely — but Katara doesn’t like to think about that last-last part. Not while the sun is out, anyway.

And Agni has only just yawned.

Already, she misses Yue. 

The shadow of the alley begins to thin. Their time is ending but she pretends not to notice as large, hot hands travel down her frame; fingers sweeping over the center of her throat, between the valley of her breasts, down her arms, across her back, flexing over her hips. The newly routine touch brings a familiar burn over her skin even through the gloves that hide away the contrasting pale tones she knows so well. She sighs, both despondent and wanting, leaning into the long caresses that make their way under her billowing skirts and up the backs of her legs, over the sides of her thighs.

Red-doves begin to vy in the distance, their sweet cooing carrying easily through the crisp morning air. Her heart flips as she blinks her eyes open, unsure of when they’d even fallen shut. He is on his knees before her, and the sight makes her heart cheer as loud and as clear as any early bird.

The grinning black maw of the Blue Spirit matches her own wide smile.

“Satisfied?” Katara murmurs, curling her fingers under his chin. A nod, but along her thigh the thumb of one hand works a pattern of circles where her bindings end, the grip of the other tightening minutely over her calf in an answer that means nothing here nor there. She returns the sentiment entirely — _yes_ and no, _no_ and yes, so directionless that it makes more than perfect sense — but she knows that they cannot dawdle in the dawn much longer, so she applies her own firm touch where her fingers crook under the glossy varnish of her Tribe’s fabled protector. The Blue Spirit rises at her coax, and her smile widens into a little flash of teeth. “Good. Now,” Katara mutters as she deftly flips their positions. The Blue Spirit hits the wall of cobblestone with a soft huff; imperceptible, were she not listening for it. “it’s your turn.”

The heady flush of control that runs swiftly through her is nothing at all like the absolute rule that meets her under the shroud of the night. Under the shroud of the night she is untouchable and does not want to be — will not be; cannot be — stopped. Under the shroud of night there is no time to relish the vast well of her reserves and the way men fall at her feet. Nothing stopping her, even when Yue hangs in earth’s shadow — but Agni is waking, now. Blessing her with a sliver of time to appreciate how fleetingly blood dances at her whim. Before he crests through Caldera’s misty sky and forces her to cease; to bow out of her guise, and trade her reds in for her blues.

Still high on adrenaline from the completion of their mission, Katara splays her hands before her almost lazily, her intensity reserved for the hunger of her gaze along the tall, broad frame of sinewy muscle that relaxes at her mere beckon; at the absent swipe of a single finger and the tiniest motion of _push_. She can feel eyes on her as she uses her power to look, could hold the weight of that stare in the cusp of her careful hands. 

Katara’s skin glows deep violet under the swirls of crimson at the edge of her wrists, the tell tale color of the combination of healing through blood. Her mind blooms with innersight immediately, a rapid fire of information that tells her that the Blue Spirit is as uninjured as she. Still, she runs her fingers through the slice of space between them, wisps of vapor rising where her cool hands cut through impossible body heat. She’s been told before, that her finesse feels like a firm touch. She can only agree. 

The tempered pulse at the center of her focus beats heavily with raw need. It echoes back through her frame as if it were her own; puts roiling heat in her belly without so much as a caress. 

Weak to the whim — and happier for it — with no more or less than the intent of her will, Katara lets her hold free over the Blue Spirit. She descends over him with quick, seeking hands, a thick fog curling suddenly; absently, from the damp cobblestone in her desire for cover. Her desire to stay right here under the thin slash of rising sun and the swallowing embrace of the narrow alley’s shadow. 

Katara runs her touch over him greedily, drunk on the feel of his hardness fitting the curve of her palm and the sandpaper whisper of a needy, choked back groan. 

Demanding hands bring her hips forward, a current of breathtaking delightment jolting up her spine at the coiled strength behind the action. She offers no resistance; melts to him like fine snow. Happy to give lien on her control, or better yet let him take it. Her hat tips; his savory musk fills her nose when she presses it to the dark fabric at the crook of his neck, and his name forms on the tip of her tongue as those large, hot hands — bloody hands as drenched as her own, yet no more damned — expertly work over her. Over her ass. Back under her skirt. 

Cupping her sex through her bindings.

A tiny, breathy whimper falls past her lips as she instinctively, desperately, grinds her hips against the steady heel of his palm. Another breath escapes her, this one lined with tiny flecks of snow in light of her surprise. As quickly as the Blue Spirit lets her shift her hips against him, he is peeling away; pointing a finger to the widening light of the alley, then up again to the brightening blue sky.

 _Time to go_ , she knows it to mean.

Katara holds back a curse — an argument, a whine, a plea for just another moment longer — and instead nods her relent. She takes a calming breath and corrects the wide brim of her hat. Falls into the shadow of the Blue Spirit’s step; past the palace gates and over the garden wall. Up the lattice of philodendron and to the safety of her balcony, where she slips through drapes as heavy as her heart. Where she is left alone to the shedding of her reds.

Standing in the center of the dimly lit den leading into her rooms, for the longest of seconds she is bludgeoned with an ache. The only heartbeat she cares to keep fades from her dwindling senses, tapped from the endless hours spent between the streets, and then fades completely once light creeps between the cracks in the curtains. She cannot feel at this distance; at this kind of tiredness. 

Nor with the light dampening her chi.

Katara takes a deep breath and begins to move; begins to wash away the paint as slowly as she dares. It drains down her bath the same as blood does when she collapses a lung or tears through an artery. Naked and alone, Katara misses the dark. 

With a deep and steadying breath, one of snow, she finds her balance and covers herself in blue. Down the hall and headed her way, a heartbeat begins to bleed weakly into her range. Katara smiles; she misses Yue.

Luckily for Agni she has learned to love his Son.

  
  


********

  
  


_During the day, she remains..._

Zuko does not consider himself as an overly religious man, but on mornings like these — the days where the time between dusk and dawn blur; the nights spent whispering through nooks and crannies — he finds himself praying to the moon more often than not.

Today, in the warm wash of Agni’s morning, he finds no irony in his piety, or his filial placement in being born a Son of the Sun when he kneels between valleys soaked gold or bows his head in reverence, mouth writing prayer for fire; for rain; for life. The vibration of the Old Word’s power stems from blood and marrow. From loin to tongue, as one learns from the Fire Sages; the rites of winter, the beckon of spring.

_Bestow unto me the gift of my labor to you, o Light_

_The strong Tui, supreme and just over all below._

He sings the hymn in low tones of praise like he was raised to; hopes that the depth of his devotion will reach Agni’s heaven, too.

“Oh, Zuko—”

_Everything that holds breath, praise Your Devi_

_How I love thy name, Tui_

_the sweetest name._

“— _Zuko—_ ”

_Sweeter than honey from the honeycomb,_

_o Light, how I love thy name._

“—Zuko, Zuko—”

_As the swift strength that bringeth blessings, I adore thee_

_We will not wait until the Flood comes_

_Tui, bring Agni_

“ _—again_ , Zuko—”

_Tui, bring Agni._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> me, squinting: ao3 auto formatting Fucking Hates Me and idk if i cleared all the spaces...??? ~~or the typos~~.
> 
> special thanks [nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/pseuds/nire) for even making me cry enough to write this companion piece. also [kashicanhaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashicanhaz/pseuds/kashicanhaz), who is the best cheerleader. and [laadychat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laadychat/pseuds/laadychat). and [gemgirl28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemgirl28/pseuds/gemgirl28). actually, _the whole discord_. they’re the reason i got any non-school-related writing done in this last week.
> 
> also-also: if you made it to the bottom of this without reading [The Solace of Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208343)......... (ง •̀_•́)ง 
> 
>   
> alright lads. leave me serotonin!!!


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